


Nightly Visits

by CoLaLu24



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Conversations, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Naughty Sherlock, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Sherlock has to take matters into his own hands, Sleepwalking, Sleepwalking John, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoLaLu24/pseuds/CoLaLu24
Summary: "'Can’t we just forget about it, please?' John hums and pinches the bridge of his nose.Sherlock just shrugs his shoulders and pours tea into a cup. 'Of course, John,' he answers. 'Surely not,' he inwardly adds and has to suppress a smirk."





	Nightly Visits

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write another Johnlock-Fanfic and then one night this idea came to my mind.   
> It slightly reminds of "Sharing a bed" stories, although the initial situation is a different one.   
> I don’t know whether it turned out to be very realistic or not, but I thought that sleepwalking would be a good basis for this story. And hey, it’s fiction :) 
> 
> As always, please note that English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes! And thank you La for your help with this story, I really appreciate this!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it! :)

 

_Arms are wrapped around his chest, holding him in a steady grip. Breath tingles hot and wet on his cheek and a low moan echoes muffled in his ear. He feels a hard cock pressed against his cloth-covered leg, rutting against the fabric of his pyjama pants._

_If feels so_ real _._

Sherlock woke with a start. He was instantly enfolded by the heat of another body behind him. The body of a smaller man who relentlessly pushed his erection against his upper leg.

Sherlock’s bedroom was shrouded in darkness. Only a small stripe of moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains and covered the bed in a pale light. The consulting detective inclined his head to look over his shoulder and every muscle in his body tensed, when his fear was confirmed.

 

"John," Sherlock whispered and his eyes widened in shock. Fast and shallow breaths escaped John’s parted lips, his pupils stared fixedly in the darkness.

"John," the younger man said, his voice several octaves louder. But John only dug his nails into the fabric of Sherlock’s shirt and pushed his cock hard against his pyjamas.

Sherlock awkwardly shifted his hips to loosen John’s grip, but the only thing he could achieve was that his own prominent erection was now tightly pressed against his stomach.

"Wake up!" Sherlock breathed heavily and tried his best to ignore, to _suppress_ his arousal.

 

But the older man still rutted against him with all the strength he could summon up while being asleep, until he suddenly stilled and moaned deep and loud. Sherlock felt hot spurts of semen shooting in John’s pants, sticking the fabric wet and gooey against his skin.

"John!" Sherlock tried it again and this time the older man’s eyelids fluttered open completely and he blinked into the twilight of the dimly lit room.

"Sherlock, what are you… Where am I? What…?" he stuttered, on his face the expression of pure incomprehension and confusion.

"Oh, Fuck," he abruptly screamed and literally jumped out of the bed. He stumbled backwards, almost falling over his own feet, but desperately trying to bring as much room as possible between him and Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I… I am sorry. I didn’t want to…" he muttered and utter shock and embarrassment covered his features. He turned around and stormed out of the room, throwing the door shut behind him. The clashing sound of wood against wood filled every corner of the flat, while John hurriedly rushed upwards to his own bedroom.

 

Sherlock’s tensed muscles relaxed a little bit and he tried to order his thoughts. What had just happened? _Why_ had it happened? John had obviously been asleep during the whole time. But he had never mentioned that he was a sleepwalker. And Sherlock had neither thought that something like this could happen, nor that it could happen that way.

 

Sherlock shifted on the mattress so that he lay on his back, his eyes directed at the ceiling. The wet and sticky patch on his trousers was pressed against the back of his thigh, constantly reminding him of the previous events. His cock was rock-hard and strained against the thin fabric of his shorts. When was the last time he had been that hard? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting his fingers trail down his chest until they slid underneath the waistband of his pyjamas and further into his boxer briefs. He felt blood rushing through his cock, pulsing hot against his hand.

 

He squeezed his erection between his fingers and tightened his grip around it. He moved his thumb over the slit at the head to circle the drops of leaking precome around and hips bucked up, thrusting his cock into the ring of his fingers. Sherlock’s breathing sped up and the fingers of his other hand clenched into his blanket. John’s face appeared in his mind’s eye and he wondered how the older man’s hand might feel around his erection, stroking up and down his length. His dick twitched at the mere thought and he came after two more strokes with a low guttural groan. His climax hit him hard and relentless. Thick stripes of semen shot out of his cock, spurting over his hand and covering the inside of his pants.

 

Trying to catch his breath, Sherlock pulled his hand out of his shorts and wiped it over his trouser leg, smearing the white cum on the plaid fabric. They needed to be washed nonetheless. The scent of John’s arousal lingered heavy and musky in the material.

 

This shouldn’t have left such an effect on him. He shouldn’t, he _mustn’t_ become hard because of his sleepwalking flatmate. He mustn’t imagine John’s fingers on his cock while masturbating either. Although it wasn’t the first time that the figure of the older doctor had crept into Sherlock’s fantasies when he laid in bed, his hand closed around his throbbing erection. But then his veins had always been filled with adrenaline and endorphins after a solved case and his whole body had craved for release.

 

Now _this_ was something entirely different. John hadn’t even been fully _conscious_ when he’d come to the younger man’s room, for fuck’s sake. But _why_ had he come to Sherlock’s bedroom? It was barely countable anymore, how often he’d stated that he wasn’t gay. So was Sherlock just the nearest person and therefore the aim of John’s "nightly excursion" or was it possible that his subconscious had led him there because he actually _wanted_ it?

Sherlock was desperately itching to find it out.

 

 

<> 

 

 

John already sat at the table, the daily newspaper and a cup of tea standing in front of him, when Sherlock stepped into the kitchen in the next morning.

"Morning," Sherlock yawned and ruffled a hand through his dark brown curls.

John winced in shock when the younger man’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Sherlock… You are… it’s quite early, normally you don’t get up before noon," he stammered and nervously dug his teeth into his lower lip.

 

"Why not getting up a little earlier? More time for experiments. More time for conversations." The allusion in the sentence was clear.

John stiffened and his cheeks flushed bright red. "I’m sorry, Sherlock. The last time I sleepwalked before last night had been when I was a child. I hadn’t expected that I would ever do it again," he murmured.

 

"Indeed somnambulism amongst children is quite common. Well, adults suffer from it too sometimes, as you can tell first hand. But then it’s usually onetime," the younger man replied and opened up the shelf with the mugs. "You can count yourself lucky that you didn’t climb out of your window. Somnambulists do various things, some of them often quite dangerous. Compared to this, sneaking into your flatmate’s bedroom and…"

"Okay, okay I understood what you wanted to tell me," John sighed and the dark red colour on his face deepened even more. "I don’t think that it will happen again."

 

"Oh how do you know this for sure? We haven’t ascertained the reason for your 'nightly excursion'," Sherlock said and poured hot water into his mug. "Is there something that recently bothered you?" the younger man asked, trying to let the question sound trivial.

"Uhh…" John fell silent and considered what to say next. "Well, actually my shift at the clinic yesterday was very exhausting. Yes, many exhausting patients. So maybe you’re right and it happened because of this," John finally stated, obviously relieved that he could have come up with this answer.

"But your shifts are _always_ exhausting. I don’t know how many times you’ve already complained about this."

 

"At least not as often as you’ve been bored in the last few days," John nervously chuckled and attempted to change the subject.

"Nice try, John," Sherlock stated and took a sip of his tea. _Now starts the interesting part._

"Speaking of your work, what about this new doctor at the clinic? How did Lestrade formulate it when he saw her? He wouldn’t refuse to 'let her thoroughly examine him'? So, I guess you aren’t averse either?"

 

John almost choked on the gulp of tea he’d just wanted to swallow and the blush on his cheeks appeared as fast as it had subsided. "Sherlock… why are you asking this? What has it do with…?"

"Hmm I don’t know. I thought that maybe your love life could be the reason for…"

"Sherlock, stop that," John interrupted him, the colour on his face had almost turned to scarlet. "Can’t we just forget about it, please?"

Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders. "If you want that. Then yes, of course, John," he answered. _"Surely not,"_  he inwardly added and had to suppress a smirk. _Subconscious? We’re getting closer._

 

<> 

 

 

Sherlock sat in his arm stool, his head resting on the pillow on the backrest of the chair. His eyes were almost closed and he glimpsed through his dark lashes to the figure of the older man on the opposite side of the room. The doctor sat on the couch, his notebook on the table in front of him and typed a new entry for his blog. His eyes were fixed on the screen and he tapped rapidly on the keys.

 

The younger man’s thoughts still turned around the question how he could proof that he was right with what he expected.

"I think I’ll go to bed," Sherlock stated suddenly and got up from his chair.

John loosened his gaze from the laptop screen and eyed the younger man suspiciously.

"My sleep last night was suddenly interrupted. And it required _certain things,_ to help me falling asleep again. Although I didn’t’ need that much time, until I could _enjoy_ the _pleasures_ of the _night_ again," Sherlock smirked and watched with satisfaction how John’s eyes widened when he realised what he had said. No, it couldn't have been more obvious. And this could be referred to the behaviour of both men.

"Good night, John," he purred and made his way out of the room.

 

 

<> 

 

 

The red numbers of the alarm clock reflected in Sherlock’s eyes. 11.32 p.m.. The brown-haired man had listened to every little sound, to every little clicking that could have indicated the arrival of John. When he’d left their shared living room, he’d been sure that the older man would come to him later. But he hadn’t heard him anywhere close to his room since then. About 30 minutes ago, the pattering of the water onto the shower tray had stopped and John must have gone to his own bedroom.

Sherlock sighed and kicked the blanket down to his feet. Well, then he had to take matters into his hands.

 

The door to John’s room was closed and Sherlock pressed his ear against the surface to hear whether the older man was still awake or not. When he could hear no sound echoing through the wood, he carefully turned the doorknob and let the door swing open.

John’s figure was outlined by the lights of the street lamps that flooded through the window. He lay on his bed, his back directed at the door. The blanket around his body lifted and lowered in a slow and steady rhythm and Sherlock crossed the distance between the doorframe and the bed with a few long steps. He placed one knee on the mattress and leaned over the sleeping body of John. With one swift movement, he sank onto the mattress and pressed his chest against the man’s back. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him even closer in his embrace. But suddenly a hand shot out from under the blanket and tightly closed around his wrist. Sherlock blinked irritated and in the next second he found himself underneath John, who’d placed his legs left and right to his hips and smirked mischievously.

 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Sherlock," he taunted him and his smirk deepened. "Are you now sleepwalking as well?"

But instead of an instant answer, Sherlock reached for John’s neck and pulled him down until there were only mere centimetres left between their faces.

"No," Sherlock whispered into John’s ear and felt a shiver running down the older man’s body. "But my intentions are the same as the ones that brought you to my room last night."

John’s eyes seemed to flicker at the words and now Sherlock smirked as well. _Yes_.

The older man trailed his fingers along Sherlock’s jawline, along the sharp outline of his bone, until he grabbed a fist full of Sherlock’s dishevelled curls.

"I am not reluctant to agree to that," he growled and finally brought their mouths together. The touch of their lips felt like electricity that shot through Sherlock’s whole body; that tingled through every little vein. John parted his lips and let Sherlock’s tongue slip into his mouth to circle around his own.

 

Sherlock could feel John’s erection against his stomach and he reached down to cup it through the man’s pants. John’s hips jerked forwards, when Sherlock’s fingers closed around his cloth-covered cock. The older man clenched his fingers around Sherlock’s shoulders and started to ground his erection against his body in agonising slow thrusts. Sherlock growled in John’s mouth and the sound seemed to resonate through his whole body.

 

They separated their mouths, hot breathing brushing over the other’s face, until John shifted his hips so that they were at the same height as Sherlock's. Their erections brushed against each other and it was overwhelming, even with several layers of clothing between them. John released Sherlock’s shoulders out of his grip and slowly brushed his palms down his front. He grabbed the hem of the younger man’s shirt and pushed the fabric upward, revealing centimetre after centimetre of Sherlock’s porcelain skin.

 

He felt the warmth of Sherlock’s bare chest against the insides of his hands, the fast, aroused beating of his heart. Sherlock’s body was flawless except of the thin scars that were spread over his skin in thin lines. John's hands trailed softly over them, brushing the calloused marks against his palms. He rubbed his fingers over Sherlock’s stiff nipples, pinching them hard between his thumb and forefinger, giving them a playful twist. He grinned cheekily and pulled Sherlock’s shirt over his head to throw it away. Strands of Sherlock’s curls hung into his face and John twirled them around his fingers, softly pulling on them, making Sherlock’s scalp tingle under his touch. He leaned forwards and buried his nose in Sherlock’s hair. Inhaling just _him_. Getting lost in him.

 

He pressed his lips on the younger man’s neck, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin. Sherlock’s moan echoed in his ear, deep and full with pleasure. The younger man threw his head back onto the pillow and closed his fingers around John’s hand to bring them both down to their straining erections.

"I want to see all of your gorgeous body," John murmured and lifted his hips to pull on the waistband of Sherlock’s pyjama pants. The younger man shifted his legs, until John was able to get rid of his trousers and tossed them onto the floor.

 

A dark patch covered the front of Sherlock's boxer shorts and John teasingly trailed his fingers over the wet spot. He shifted his body further down, until his face was in front of the younger man’s crotch. Sherlock felt John's breath radiating warm and wet through the thin fabric of his briefs and his muscles tensed. But this time because of the indescribable lust, because of the strained anticipation that flooded hot through his veins. John licked over his lips, his eyes boring right into Sherlock's, dark and full with lust.

 

A sharp hiss escaped Sherlock's lips, when John closed his mouth over his straining bulge. His hands darted upwards and he dug them into the older man’s hair, letting the short blonde strands sliding through his fingers.

"John," he gasped, when the doctor pulled his cock and balls out of his briefs and they were enfolded by the chilly air of his bedroom.

 

John brushed his tongue over the head of Sherlock’s cock, gathering the drops of leaking precome. He trailed it over Sherlock’s exposed erection, following the blood pulsing through the veins that covered the thin skin. His tongue moved further down, brushing lightly over Sherlock’s balls, over his perineum, until he licked over the sensitive ring of muscles. It twitched under the soft touch and John slowly slid the tip of his tongue inside Sherlock’s body.

 

Sherlock’s instantly slung his legs around John’s back and pressed him closer against his body. The older man’s tongue pushed further into him and Sherlock growled at the feeling. But the growl subsided in a suppressed hiss, when John pushed the first part of his forefinger inside Sherlock’s hole. He still continued to lick Sherlock open with his tongue and at the same time slid his finger deeper inside, until it was buried to the second knuckle. He circled his finger around, bending it, feeling Sherlock’s insides convulsing around it. Hot and tight.

 

The grip of Sherlock’s hands in his hair loosened a little bit and John shifted his head so that he could add a second and a third finger inside Sherlock’s arse. The younger man couldn’t stop his hips from bucking forwards to higher the friction of John’s fingers against his body. His muscles contracted around John’s hand, pushing his fingers out and drawing them in again. Sherlock’s heels lifted off the mattress and his toes curled into the sheets, when John’s fingertips brushed over the sensitive spot inside of him. He groaned and his whole body tingled with need and lust he had never felt before.

 

Sherlock huffed in obvious disapproval, when John pulled his fingers out of his body and reached for his nightstand to open the drawer. He closed his hand around the bottle of lube and hastily slid his pants and briefs along his legs. The cap of the tube flicked open with a click and John poured a generous amount of lube onto his hand.

 

Sherlock’s gaze lingered on John’s cock that stood obscenely upright from his body, the tip glistening wet with precome. John smirked when he caught Sherlock’s stare and he searched for the younger man’s eyes when he closed his hand around the shaft of his erection. He teasingly moved it upwards, slickening his length with the lukewarm lube. Sherlock’s pupils widened and he placed his feet at hip width onto the mattress. The distance between his parted legs big enough, so that John could slide between them.

 

Sherlock invitingly wiggled his hips and locked his shining eyes with John’s. The sparkling blue ring of his iris was almost swallowed by his dilated pupils.

Barely able to wait any longer, John shifted to his knees and brushed the slippery head of his cock over Sherlock’s hole. He watched the ring of muscles gaping wide and loose. _Ready for him_.

"Are you…? I am going to…" he muttered, his arousal so strong that he was almost unable to form a coherent sentence anymore.

"Fuck me, John," Sherlock growled and bucked his arse against John’s cock to shut him up and show him that he was more than willing. More than eager.

 

"Oh God," John gasped and his fingers clenched around Sherlock’s hips, when he steadily slid almost the complete length of his cock inside the younger man’s body. He stilled for a few seconds, just indulging himself in the feeling of Sherlock’s insides tightening around his cock. Sherlock’s breathing was fast and shallow and he dug his hands into the sheets again. It was the only opportunity to bear all the sensations that flooded through his body. To bear the feeling of John’s swollen dick in his arse. Of his fingers around his hips.

 

John suddenly started to buck his hips, pushing into Sherlock in slow, deep thrusts.

"Touch yourself. I want to hear you moan, to see you come," John muttered out of breath and buried his cock even deep into the younger’s body.

Sherlock released the sheets out of his hands and started to stroke his erection in the same rhythm in which John constantly pushed his dick inside him. His vision went white, when John brushed his cock hard over his prostate. Sherlock’s whole body trembled and his fingers clenched around his erection, squeezed it hard and tight. Sparks of colours dance in front of his eyes and a low series of moans escaped his mouth, joining the sound of their bodies clashing against each other.

 

John’s hand reached for Sherlock’s and he stroked their entangled fingers up and down Sherlock’s dick. John’s hand was rough and smooth at the same time and Sherlock enjoyed the feeling of it pressed against his own sensitive flesh.

"Come for me, Sherlock," John whispered, his voice husky and low and these words were everything the younger man had needed to be pushed over the edge.

"Oh… fuck, John," Sherlock moaned aloud and was overwhelmed by a breath-taking climax that relentlessly rushed through him and left him shaking and gasping for air. Come shot out of his cock, splattering over their combined hands and his stomach.

 

John loosened his slick fingers from Sherlock’s and pleasurably wiped them over his own lower lip. At the same time the speed of his thrusting in Sherlock’s body increased and he came closer and closer to his own orgasm. John’s eyelids fluttered close, when the tip of his tongue appeared between his parted lips and moved over the sticky white drops that covered them. The scene was so obscene and yet so unbearably arousing that Sherlock could feel his dick twitching at the mere sight. John pushed his cock into Sherlock’s body for one last thrust and threw his head back, when his orgasm washed over him.

He gasped Sherlock’s name and the younger man could feel John’s semen pulsing deep inside his body in hot, strong spurts.

 

They both remained in their position for a few moments, just indulging themselves in the aftermaths of their orgasms, wallowing in the scent of their mixed arousal that lingered in the air.

Sherlock felt John’s cock softening inside him and his breathing hitched for a second, when the older man pulled it out of his arse.

"I have definitely nothing against _these_ kinds of nightly activities," John sighed and lay down onto the mattress, a smirk covering his face. But Sherlock could only reciprocate his expression.


End file.
